


A Bridge to Sell You

by Laylah



Series: Which Way Home [4]
Category: Baccano!
Genre: Denial, Dirty Talk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:52:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[May 1932] He could still back out, make excuses or lie or <i>something</i> less queer than the first thing that comes to mind. "You could -- just -- don't ask me why, okay," he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bridge to Sell You

It's Wednesday before Dallas realizes he missed his Tuesday appointment. The days sort of blur together in the manor, the way they always did before he -- before the river. Being nervous about what Luck Gandor was going to make him do marked the time, kept him focused on how long he had before it was Tuesday again. But after what happened last time --

Well. Tuesday came and went and Dallas stayed home, and there haven't been any consequences. Eve looks relieved, the little wrinkle between her eyebrows smoothing out over the next few days, and Dallas never wants to give her reason to worry again, after she saved him. So if it makes her happy for him to stay home, and Luck Gandor isn't going to come after...either of them, then Dallas is willing to stay put for her sake. Sometimes it's boring, just them and the servants out here, but boring and breathing beats the river any day.

Most of April passes that way, the rains coming through and the manor grounds growing a little wild because, as Eve explains awkwardly one afternoon on the balcony, the gardener is a luxury she thinks they'll have to do without until the factories are doing better again. She gets flustered when he tells her how brave she is, and protests that it's nothing. But the house is still standing because of her courage, and Dallas knows it.

At the beginning of May, Luck telephones the house, and spends half an hour talking to Eve while Dallas tries to pretend he's not hovering in anticipation of hearing something awful. But it does sound like a business deal after all; Eve makes notes as she listens, and asks thoughtful questions about percentages and loan terms. She even manages to put off giving the bastard a straight answer, telling him she'll have to discuss the terms of his very generous offer with her brother before she commits the family's resources.

It does sound like a good deal, once she explains. Gandor money -- from where, neither of them ask -- to give them some liquid assets, enough to let them open one of the shuttered factories again. And in return, the Gandors will get some of the profits once the factory's producing, until their investment is paid off with an agreed-upon amount of interest. They'd be laundering money, and Dallas is pretty sure Eve knows that, but the way she talks about being able to give jobs to people who need them -- it sounds like she's learning how to pick the lesser of two evils, God or no God.

The obnoxious part as far as Dallas is concerned is that after that he's thinking about Luck again. The more he thinks about it the more messed up he gets. He didn't go there because he _liked_ it. He's no queer. But he was...getting used to it, he figures. Luck knew how to make it feel pretty good, which is a strange thing to think about and he doesn't think he'd ever want to admit it, but probably there wouldn't be any queers if the stuff they did never felt good. Only that line of thought treads on dangerous ground for a guy who isn't one. Dallas spends more time with Eve and tries to forget what it felt like to have Luck Gandor touch him, to have -- to _let_ Luck Gandor fuck his ass.

It's almost the middle of May -- and a Tuesday, even -- when Dallas finds himself heading back to Manhattan with only the flimsiest excuse and a pretty good idea where he's actually going. It's probably one of the last nice days they'll get before the summer heat sets in, and anyone who can get away with it, from guys out of work to kids cutting school, is outside enjoying the weather while it lasts. Dallas buys himself a lemon ice from a street vendor and eats it as he wanders around. He doesn't run into anyone who knows him -- a year and a half is a lifetime, in a place like Manhattan -- and that bothers him less than he expects it to. He's gone from being Raymond's no-good son to being Eve's shut-in brother, which is still nobody but he'll live, and that's the important part. He tosses the paper from his ice in a trash can and turns the corner. Maybe he'll just walk by Coraggioso, and see if --

Luck Gandor is walking up the street in the other direction, flanked by two goons in suits almost as nice as his. Dallas stops. God damn him for the way he always takes Dallas's choices away.

He stops when he gets close, and for a second Dallas thinks his eyes might widen a bit. Just for a second. "Dallas," he says.

"Luck," Dallas tries, and dredges up a little nervous smile from somewhere. He has no excuse ready. What's he going to say, in front of these guys? _So, about last time...._

"You and your sister have had a chance to discuss my offer?" Luck says.

That'll do. "Yeah," Dallas says. He didn't even get the it's-Mister-Gandor-to-you treatment this time. "You busy?"

Luck smiles, polite, all business. "Not especially," he says. "Why don't you come in?"

"Sure," Dallas says, and nods. He wonders what the hell he's doing.

What he's doing is walking into Coraggioso behind Luck and in front of the goons, just like he has an actual reason to be here. Luck doesn't stop inside, just motions for the goons to wait and beckons to Dallas as he heads for the stairs. Keith is there and he frowns at that but he doesn't say anything -- does that guy _ever_ talk? -- and Dallas follows, doesn't stop to say hi.

The office is almost the same as Dallas remembers, brighter now that there's actual sunlight coming through the blinds. Luck hangs up his hat and turns back to Dallas and this ought to be the part where he demands that Dallas come over there, but he doesn't. Instead he says, "Have the Genoards come to a decision, then?"

God damn him, the smug bastard. "That's not why I'm here," Dallas says -- and at that point it starts to get seriously weird, because Luck looks caught off guard for a second. He covers it almost immediately, but it was enough. He didn't expect that.

"No?" he says, watching Dallas's eyes. "In that case, what can I do for you, Dallas?"

Dallas hesitates. He could still back out, make excuses or lie or _something_ less queer than the first thing that comes to mind. "You could -- just -- don't ask me why, okay," he says.

Luck nods, and he plays enough poker that Dallas can't really read his face, but he's waiting, that's for sure. "I won't," he says.

"Okay, good," Dallas says, and takes the three steps to close the distance between them. Luck doesn't flinch but he breathes in sharply like he's surprised again and Dallas grabs him by his fancy fucking tie to hold him still and kisses him. If he's a queer he should like that, right?

And he does, God does he ever, wrapping his arms around Dallas's shoulders and kissing back. He doesn't do it like a girl, soft and easy -- his teeth scrape Dallas's lip and his tongue presses into Dallas's mouth and he makes this sound in his throat like Dallas has just hit him, just knocked the wind out of him. Dallas's cock twitches.

He pulls back, though, and for a second Luck looks stunned and needy and _that_ isn't something Dallas ever expected to see. "Don't get the wrong idea, okay," he says. "I'm -- I'm not a queer."

Luck shakes his head. "I don't care about that," he says. "I've -- you're not the only guy I've known who --" and he doesn't finish the sentence, like this makes even smooth-talking Luck Gandor go tongue-tied.

"Just so we got that straight," Dallas says. He lets go of Luck's tie, wonders if Luck's going to be pissed about the wrinkles in the silk.

"May I ask you something else?" Luck asks. It's weird for him to be asking, but Dallas figures what the hell. He nods. "Do you want to come upstairs to my room?" Luck smiles faintly. He looks embarrassed, if such a thing is possible. "It may be more comfortable."

"Since it's...not business anymore," Dallas says, to make sure they're on the same page there. "Yeah. The desk is pretty, ah, awkward."

Luck smiles. "My apologies," he says, and Dallas could almost believe he means it. "This way."

The stairs up to the top floor are narrow, and it probably swelters up here in the summer. It's already warmer than it was downstairs. But Luck's room isn't so bad -- not as nice as anything at home, of course, but nicer than some of the places Dallas used to stay when he'd come into the city to mess around. There's a window with curtains half-drawn, fluttering in the breeze from outside. There's a bookshelf, a dresser, a bed with the covers made. Jesus. He's in Luck Gandor's bedroom. They're going to screw.

"Go ahead and -- make yourself comfortable," Luck says. When Dallas looks back at him he's pulling his tie loose.

Dallas hadn't thought about _him_ taking his clothes off. Jesus.

"Feels -- real different doing it like this," Dallas says. He should be taking his jacket off, but he can't seem to make himself move.

"Too different?" Luck asks. He hangs up his jacket and tie, hesitates on the buttons of his vest. "Too queer?"

"Don't ask," Dallas says. Of course it is. But he's not saying stop, is he?

"All right," Luck says. How fucking hard up for it must he be? Dallas has reached the point where he can tell when he's being a jackass, and if he knows he's doing it then Luck must have noticed.

All he does, though, is strip off his vest and shirt and come over there, kissing Dallas again while he pushes Dallas's jacket off himself. Dallas bites Luck's lip, shrugging his shoulders to help the process along. He doesn't fight it when Luck pushes his suspenders down and reaches for his shirt buttons next.

This is going to be a hell of a lot of bare skin, already is when Luck steps back to pull his undershirt off. Dallas feels almost queasy, only it's not bad the way it was the first couple times.

Luck's darker than he is all over, that Italian olive tone to his skin. Dallas slept with a girl like that once. She didn't make it look as interesting as Luck does. Maybe it's just the light -- there's something about getting undressed in the middle of the day, sunlight coming in the window, that seems kind of weird and more exciting than it should. Dallas takes his own shoes off, hesitates over his pants until Luck has finished stripping completely. Luck Gandor, naked. Dallas can't help looking at his cock. It's already hard. Somehow it doesn't look nearly as big as it feels when it's up his ass.

"Come here," Luck says, pulling back the blankets, getting in bed. He doesn't really sound like he's asking.

"Right," Dallas says. He drops his pants, finally, and gets in bed. What the fuck does he think he's doing?

Luck pulls him close, presses right up against him, rocking against Dallas's hip. It's weird, all that bare skin, not really something he's used to. A lot of hookers don't want to get naked if they can help it, and even the ones that did never felt like this. Luck doesn't have any of those soft curves, no give, nothing easy. It suits him.

He presses his lips to Dallas's throat, where the pulse point is, and when he bites Dallas shudders. But it's not a mean bite, and even the little ache from it goes away fast, and Luck's still rocking against him. Against his cock. Dallas holds on, sort of, hands splayed flat against Luck's back, and rocks his own hips. Luck's already hard, so this should be about Dallas, right? About getting him interested.

"That's good," Dallas says. "The biting."

Luck does it again, sucking on the skin between his teeth this time, and Dallas's cock pulses, getting hard for -- it's just because it feels good, that's all. Nothing to do with who it is. And hey, better if he _does_ get hard, right? It's less awkward when Luck screws him if he can get it up first.

He's getting there, getting pretty hard, when Luck rolls him onto his back, and Dallas says, "What --" and then stops. He knew it'd be different, right?

"Just this," Luck says. He braces most of his weight on one elbow, reaches down with his other hand into the space between them, shifting his hips until their cocks line up together and then catching them both in his hand. His fingers don't quite stretch all the way around them, but he pushes so he's rubbing his cock against Dallas's and then the awkwardness doesn't really matter.

"Fuck," Dallas says. "Fuck, you pervert."

"That's not the same as stop," Luck says. His teeth graze Dallas's shoulder.

"No, it's not," Dallas agrees. He hasn't said stop yet, doesn't think he's going to. "You're really into this, aren't you? You like my cock. You like touching it."

"Yes," Luck says, hoarse, barely more than a whisper, and Dallas shudders. It feels good, makes him feel important, having Luck want him this bad.

"How about this?" Dallas asks, stretching up so he can try biting, too. And Luck swears, pushes hard against him, tilts his head back like he wants Dallas to do it harder. So Dallas goes ahead, bites down hard and sucks until Luck's skin tastes sharp against his tongue, and Luck doesn't say stop either. When Dallas lets go there's a red raw bruise there, on Luck's throat, that disappears back into Luck's pale golden skin as he watches. Fuck. They can't really hurt each other, can they?

Luck seems to like it, because he's only holding on tighter, his grip rough around their cocks and his breathing harsh, and -- fuck, why does Dallas even _care_ what he likes? They slide like that, sweat sticking them, slicking them, together, and it feels good enough that Dallas starts to worry that he's going to finish before Luck screws him -- they did that once, Luck jerking him off first, and when he took his turn after it ached the whole time -- but when Dallas tries to say so, when he rests a hand on Luck's arm and says, "Look, you want to --" Luck just shakes his head and doesn't stop moving. The muscle in his arm is flexing under Dallas's hand, faster, God, and his breath hitches like -- like --

And then his hand and their cocks are suddenly a lot slicker, and Luck _moans_.

"Fuck. Fuck," Dallas says, "just like that, huh? That's all you need and you're, ah, coming all over me," and Luck's come makes his cock all slippery and Dallas is pushing into his hand because it feels _good_ and it doesn't take him long at all before he's doing it too, pushing and cursing and coming in Luck's hand.

Luck rolls off him afterward, before the weight pressing down on Dallas's lungs can make him panic. He doesn't go far, though, just sort of curls up against Dallas's side, one arm still thrown over Dallas's stomach. He doesn't ask if that's okay, the bastard. Probably knows this is too much to expect any normal guy to put up with.

Dallas doesn't tell him to let go. It's kind of flattering. Weird, but flattering. And it's hard to really be pissed about anything when he's just gotten off.

"Thank you for coming by," Luck says eventually, when Dallas is just starting to wonder if he's dropped off to sleep.

"That my cue to leave?" Dallas asks.

Luck props himself up on one elbow, and he looks surprised. "Only if you have somewhere to be," he says. He smiles faintly, the smug bastard Dallas is used to surfacing for a minute. "Business is going rather smoothly for us this season, so I'm not in a hurry."

"Right," Dallas says. He's seen the God damn headlines, knows how much trouble the Gandors have been making for the Runoratas. Knows as much as he wants to, anyway. "So, what, you just want to sit here and cuddle all afternoon?"

"Did you have something else in mind?" Luck asks. He's using the polite voice, but Dallas isn't as worried by that as he used to be. Seems like he doesn't always mean it as a threat.

"I can't believe you sometimes," Dallas says. "You spend months fucking me over your desk, and then you bring me up to your bed and all you want to do is jerk off on me."

Luck smiles again, warmer this time. "I could still fuck you, if that's what you want."

Dallas looks away. "It's what I was expecting," he says.

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint you," Luck says. He leans in to kiss Dallas, and it starts out gentle, almost hesitant, but when Dallas opens his mouth Luck takes that for an invitation. He kisses hard then, deep, his teeth sharp against Dallas's lips, and it's hard to explain what makes this so much more queer than just fucking, but it is, no question.

It's just starting to get -- does it make him queer too if he calls this good? -- whatever, getting intense, getting Dallas hard again, when Luck pulls back. "Will you wait here for a moment?" he says. "I'm afraid I don't have anything on hand in here to slick you up."

Dallas blinks, tries not to think about how much he doesn't want to be interrupted. "Sure," he says, "okay." Only once Luck goes, he starts thinking about how fucked up that is, that Luck has stuff on hand for screwing guys in his office but not in his bedroom. What the hell is wrong with Luck Gandor, anyway?

He doesn't give Dallas too much time to think about that, at least. He's back before Dallas can come up with a real answer, sliding back into bed, bottle in hand. This stuff goes easier if Dallas just doesn't think about it anyway. He starts to roll over, so Luck can get at his ass, but Luck stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

"What?" Dallas says. He's not sure if he means _what do you want?_ or _what are you doing?_

"Like this is fine," Luck says. Fine with him, maybe. "Lift your knees."

"Jesus," Dallas says. His face feels hot, and that seems stupid, because hey, they both know what they're doing here. He raises his knees, his heels braced against the mattress, and Luck presses close against his side, reaching down between his legs. The heel of his hand rests just behind Dallas's balls, and his fingers are slippery where they rub against Dallas's asshole.

"Now," Luck says, and it might even be a question, the bastard. Dallas nods just in case, even though he wishes Luck would cut that out.

Luck pushes, and even after a month and a half Dallas still takes it more easily than he expects to. His body remembers this shit. And it feels different at this angle, but not bad. Not worse. Fuck. Dallas curls a hand around his cock.

"God," Luck says. His fingers push deeper, slippery, easy. Dallas looks over at him and almost wishes he hadn't. The way Luck watches him is too much.

"You need this bad," Dallas says. Luck would stop looking at him like that if he realized he was doing it, right? "You act like you haven't fucked anyone since I walked out of here."

"Nowhere near enough," Luck says. Something that's only about half panic hums down Dallas's spine. Seriously, Luck's been going without because of him?

Luck sits up a little more, pushes his fingers deeper up Dallas's ass, strokes that spot inside that Dallas wishes he could hate, the one that makes his balls pull tight up against his body and his cock stiffen. "Fuck," Dallas says, and catches himself spreading his legs further. "Right there, you bastard, and you know it."

"Yes," Luck says, low hungry breath. His cock rubs against Dallas's hip, hard, smearing Dallas's skin with precome. "Are you -- you're ready."

"Yeah," Dallas says. "You've missed it real bad, fucking my ass. Can't wait to shove your cock in there again."

"Keep talking," Luck says as he pulls his fingers out, and the not-panic thing runs down Dallas's spine again. He's getting off on -- of course he's getting off on it, the queer. Probably can't get enough of this kind of stuff.

"Jesus," Dallas says, because Luck still isn't rolling him over, just crawling between his legs, pushing his thighs up. "You want me on my back under you, Luck Gandor? You want to watch me come?"

"I want to _make_ you come," Luck says, meeting Dallas's eyes, and Dallas has to let go of his cock in a hurry.

"Go on, then," he says. His heart's pounding. How does Luck make him feel like this? "Get your cock in there. It's what you've been fucking waiting for, isn't it?"

Luck smiles for just a second, sharp and dangerous as the knife Dallas used to carry, and then he lines up and oh God, his cock feels just as thick and hard as Dallas remembers when he pushes it in.

"Oh God," Dallas says, "oh _fuck_." It feels different like this, pushing at different angles than when he's bent over, and the press of Luck's hips against the backs of his thighs makes him feel so much more exposed, more open. "You son of a bitch," Dallas says, and he has to hook one hand under his own thigh to hold himself spread for Luck to fuck him, Jesus, but he has his other hand wrapped around Luck's back.

Luck still doesn't complain about Dallas cursing him, just leans down to lick, to bite the base of Dallas's throat, and he has his weight braced on one elbow beside Dallas's shoulder and reaches between them with the other. There's barely room for him to get his hand down there, with the angle and the way Dallas has to hold his legs, but Luck manages, gets his hand around Dallas's cock and finds him fucking hard for this.

"Yes," Dallas hisses when Luck starts to stroke him, and he has to close his eyes because he doesn't think he can stand to watch Luck react to that. "Go on, fuck me, you queer, you bastard, this is what you wanted, isn't it?" He's moving his hips -- or trying to -- it's hard to get any leverage when he's on his back, but like hell he wants to just lie there and let Luck do it all _to_ him.

"There," Luck says when they finally get the rhythm to match up, and he sounds like this is fucking killing him.

"Yeah," Dallas says, "that's just what you want. Can't fucking get enough, can you? Going to make you come?"

Luck makes this breathy sound that Dallas almost doesn't recognize as a laugh. "After you," he says.

"Such a fucking gentleman," Dallas says, daring to open his eyes long enough to see Luck smiling at him. God. This is so -- the friction's getting to him, the way Luck's hand moves on his cock and the press and stretch of Luck's cock filling his ass, God, and he can feel the base of Luck's cock rubbing against his balls. It's way too much to take, like this, and for a second he thinks about telling Luck that he can't come this way -- only he's pretty sure he'd be lying, because he's tensing for it already, and if they just keep this up it won't _matter_ that it's too much, that he's getting fucked on his back like a whore in Luck Gandor's bed -- and a low sound escapes him by mistake at that thought, God, he doesn't want Luck to think he _wants_ this, or anything --

"Do it," Luck murmurs, "let me feel it," totally focused, totally intent.

"God," Dallas says, "you bastard, you -- fuck --" and it feels like it starts in his ass, tightening down around Luck's cock and then the feeling surges up from there and his balls tighten and then his cock aches with the sweetness of finally finishing and he's coming all over himself while Luck nails him.

Luck _sobs_, there's no other word for that noise, fuck, and there's no way Dallas can look him in the eyes right now -- only then Luck lets go of his cock and runs his fingers through Dallas's come instead. Dallas opens his eyes and Luck's lifting his fingers to his mouth, fuck, watching Dallas's face while he licks come off his hand.

"_Fuck_," Dallas says, "you queer, you goddamn pervert," and reaches down to catch some of that mess on his fingertips, too. He lifts his fingers to Luck's mouth and Luck licks them, sucks them in, mouth wet and hot enough that Dallas feels one last shudder run down his spine. The way Luck's cheeks turn all hollow like that when he's sucking -- God, Dallas never meant to be thinking about what an amazing cocksucker Luck Gandor must be -- "Go on, come, you son of a bitch," Dallas says, hoarse, not stupid enough to suggest that one out loud, "you like the way that tastes?"

Luck moans, fucks him harder, rough and ragged, and Dallas pushes his fingers in further -- fingerfucking Luck's mouth, son of a bitch, and Luck doesn't choke on them at all, just shudders and pushes and comes like that, moaning in his throat where Dallas can't quite reach.

He opens his mouth wider after that, so he's not sucking anymore, and Dallas can take a hint. He pulls his fingers back, out of Luck's mouth, wipes his hand on the sheets. "You're, ah. Not going to decide you need to kill me now, or anything, right? Or, you know, make me wish I was dead?"

"Not planning on it," Luck says. He shifts his weight a little, and his cock slides free of Dallas's ass. "Don't give me a reason to, and we'll be fine."

"Right," Dallas says. "I can do that." Luck's weight on his thighs is starting to make the joints of his hips ache. "Just didn't want you to decide, ah," he shouldn't even be saying this, shouldn't give Luck ideas, "that last bit was...too pushy, or anything."

Luck smiles a little and looks away. "No," he says. "Not too pushy." His voice is quiet, a little slow, like -- okay, if Dallas didn't know better he'd say Luck was embarrassed. But he's not stupid enough to say that, not these days. He squirms a little, though, and Luck looks down at him again. "Sorry," Luck says. "That's not comfortable, is it?"

It's another one of those weird moments where Dallas is almost curious just how well Luck knows that, but not curious enough. Just because this is friendlier than before doesn't mean...well, anything, really. So Dallas just says, "Thanks," when Luck rolls off him, and leaves it at that.

He wonders if Luck's going to want to go a third time if he sticks around. He wonders how many times they _can_ go without getting worn out, if the immortality thing changes that. "I should get going pretty soon," he says. "Eve'll worry if I don't come home for dinner."

"Well, we wouldn't want that," Luck says.

Heat washes over Dallas's skin. "Look, you can do whatever the fuck you want with me," he says, "but don't you dare make fun of --"

"Dallas," Luck says, catching his hand. "I'm not making fun of her. I'm sorry if it sounded that way." He smiles. "Your sister is an admirable young woman."

"You don't have to tell me," Dallas says, and looks away. "Thanks." Luck just apologized to him, without being sarcastic or anything. What the hell is this turning into?

Luck stretches beside him, lays one hand on his chest. "I shouldn't keep you in any case. Katie's promised to make tortellini tonight, and I'd hate to miss that."

"Katie?" Dallas says. His stomach rolls over. "You get a girlfriend while I was gone?"

"No," Luck says immediately. "No, you were right about -- about how little I want one." He pets Dallas slowly, as if him being queer is something Dallas wants reassuring about. "Katie is Keith's wife."

"Seriously?" Dallas says. "I wouldn't have thought a --" and then he stops himself before he calls Keith Gandor a cold-blooded bastard, because he's learning. "Wouldn't have thought he was the type."

"Man can't live by murder and extortion alone," Luck says mildly. "At least, no man I'd want to call my brother can."

Dallas puts his hand over Luck's, and Luck laces their fingers together. "Fair enough," Dallas says. "I guess I, ah, I'll get going, then."

"All right," Luck says, and then leans over to kiss him one last time before he can get up.

Dallas pulls away, hunts up his clothes, starts to pull things back on. He's going to want to duck into the bathroom before he leaves and clean up so he doesn't go home smelling quite that strongly of sex.

Luck's about half-dressed by the time Dallas is ready to leave. It's kind of weird, seeing him still a mess like this. "You know," he says, "if you feel like coming back sometime --" he hesitates, like he doesn't know how to say it. "You'd be welcome."

"Yeah," Dallas says. He bets he would be. "I'll, ah, let you know."


End file.
